


Betrayal

by orlesiantitans



Series: 100 Themes [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Previous Emotional Child Neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was when she got down there that she quietened her steps, sneaking up to the side of the stables, peeking around the side in order to avoid immediate detection.</p><p>What she saw broke her heart.</p><p>He was standing above the small washbasin fixed to the side of the stables, watching his face and frowning at it. He was muttering to himself, and though she couldn’t hear what he was saying, she figured it was probably unpleasant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betrayal

Malika sighed and moved onto the next letter from a frustrated noble, complaining about the ‘injustice’ the Inquisition had caused by allowing Thom Rainier to walk free. She was tempted to throw it into the fire, but knew she couldn’t, knew she’d have to pass it onto Josephine in order to ensure a diplomatic response was sent.

She knew that it hadn’t been a good decision. But even after all his lies, even after all he’d done… she still loved him. Seeing him in that prison, broken and sobbing, had almost broken her. She’d had to do something.

_He’s broken, barely keeping his emotions in check and admitting these feelings and all she can think of is waking up alone. Cold._

_“Love without trust is nothing.”_

_He walks away, slumped and defeated._

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the thought of him walking away as he had. She knew that she’d been hasty, sending him away as she had, but she felt like he’d reached into her chest and left a gaping chasm where her heart should have been. Her eyes stung with tears as the words in front of her began to blur, and she ran over to her bed, grabbing a pillow and sobbing into it, sick with grief, body shaking with the sobs.

She never cried. Ever. Not since she was a child, told by her mother and father that she’d need to toughen up a little if she wanted to be an effective member of the Carta. Berik and Milsi did their best with her, but having been raised by Carta smugglers themselves they knew very little of how to show a small child their love. As she grew, they were more relaxed around her, but she still remembered toddling over to her mother, arms outstretched for a hug as she’d once seen the human children in the village she’d grown up in do, only to be told to put her hands down and eat her dinner.

She’d grown up fast with them as parents, and as such she kept her emotions in check from a very young age. Since joining the Inquisition she’d found it much easier to express how she felt about other people, through the friendships she’d developed and love she’d discovered, and apparently it had made her go soft.

Through the tears she didn’t hear the door open, and only looked up when she heard footsteps. Dorian, who had been gliding in in his usual fashion, stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. She, in return, stared back (because really, neither of them were all that great with emotions), and then turned her face to the side.

There were a good few seconds of silence before she heard him sigh and cross the room, awkwardly drawing her into his arms. She let out another choked sob and felt him pull her closer, despite the tense set of his body.

“Crying isn’t a good look on you, Inquisitor,” he gently teased, and she let out a strangled laugh, gripping onto him tightly.

“I can go hit him, if you like?” he offered, only half teasing. She rolled her eyes and prodded him in the chest, shaking her head. If she asked, he’d do it, and despite the anger she felt towards the man, she didn’t want him to end up with most of his beard singed off and a few bruises to go with it.

“If you hit him, he might hit you back, and we wouldn’t want to ruin the image of perfection with a big bruise, would we?” she asked, and Dorian chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“Can’t have that.”

The silence softened at that, becoming decidedly more comfortable, and eventually Dorian spoke up again, “You know that I’ve never particularly enjoyed Bla- Raini- whatever-his-name-is’ company. It’s hard enough for me to make friends, let alone with someone who dislikes me just because I’m me. But… on one of my trips to the Tavern, I found myself wandering past the stables. Just on my way, mind you, I wasn’t checking up on him or anything. That would suggest I cared. I didn’t look for very long, but he looked absolutely miserable. He was sitting in there staring at that Griffon he’d been working on and sighing every few seconds. Really, rather awful to watch. If you want him back, you could get him back. Easily.”

“I don’t know if I can. He _hurt_ me, Dorian,” she whispered, reaching to play with a small piece of frayed material on her tunic. The mage nodded in sympathy, shrugging.

“I know he did. That bastard. But he’ll try to make it up to you, I know that much, and perhaps giving him another chance with you could give him the chance to be even better than he’s already trying to be. Either way, both of you need to talk about this before you get yourselves killed wallowing in misery.”

She sighed. He was right, of course, and she stood, wiping at her eyes and raising an eyebrow at Dorian who had moved from simply sitting on her bed to full out sprawling on it.

“How do I look?”

“Wonderful, as always,” he replied, before shaking his head. “Like shit. But if you splash some water on your face, you’ll be fine. The real question is, do you think Josephine would switch my bed to one of these if I asked?”

She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes, “No, Dorian, I highly doubt it. I think it was a gift from some Orlesian, for the Inquisitor. Apparently, they forgot that the Inquisitor is a dwarf, because I swear I feel tiny on it.”

“You _are_ tiny.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

After washing her face and advising Dorian it would do him good to leave her bedroom (in a much less polite manner), she made her way down to the stables. It was when she got down there that she quietened her steps, sneaking up to the side of the stables, peeking around the side in order to avoid immediate detection.

What she saw broke her heart.

He was standing above the small washbasin fixed to the side of the stables, watching his face and frowning at it. He was muttering to himself, and though he couldn’t hear what she was saying, she figured it was probably unpleasant.

On her way into the room, she walked more deliberately, trying to ensure he heard her enter. He did, if the way he jumped at the sound was any indication. He turned slowly, and she had to physically stop herself from gasping at the sight he made. Hair greasy and hanging limp around his face, dark circles underneath his eyes, pale and drawn features. She took a step forwards, hand rising, before she stood still again, gaze turning to the floor.

He moved towards her, eventually, after a few moments of silence, “My La- Inquisitor? Can I help you with something?”

She could feel the threat of tears again, but forced them back. She wouldn’t show weakness to this man who’d caused her so much pain, she couldn’t. Instead, she pushed back her shoulders and held her head as high as she could make it.

She had something planned in her mind. Tell him how she felt about what he’d done, try and make amends. But instead of something classy, something that would be kind, what came out was: “Well, you look truly awful.”

He stared at her, wide eyed, and she felt a flush climb up her cheeks. And then, she groaned.

“Oh, sweet Maker! How is it that I can talk to crowds without any hesitation, but the moment I decide to speak to you, I make a fool of myself? I had a speech planned, you know, about how I wanted to work through this and how I’m miserable without you, all that stuff, but that clearly wasn’t what came out. I… argh, this is why I let Josie handle all the diplomacy stuff, Maker.”

Blackwall continued to stare at her for a few seconds before his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. The sight of this alone was enough to set her off into hysterics, and she doubled  over in laughter. The man in front of her was looking more bemused by the second, and eventually knelt down next to her when tears began to stream down her face with the force of her laughter.

“My Lady Inquisitor, are you… alright?” he asked, and she waved him off, gulping in large breaths of air.

“I’m just fine, _thank you_. Just… wondering how I managed to become leader of the Inquisition, considering how hopeless I am at this… talking stuff. Or maybe it’s just you? Is it just you? I’ve never had trouble with men before. It must just be you.”

Blackwall’s mouth twitched slightly, though his main expression was still a cross between ‘confusion’ and ‘worriment’. She reached out for him, thumb gently rubbing over his cheekbone, and he turned his head into it.

“Malika?” he asked, voice soft, and she leaned forwards.

“I’m sorry. I thought I could do this without you. I thought I could just be your Inquisitor, but I can’t. I need you, Blackwall. By my side, as my lover and my warrior. The man I love, and my protector,” she broke off there. “Not that I don’t protect you plenty, myself. Let’s not forget the dragon in the Hinterlands, my dear.”

He rolled his eyes and finally let a smile slip past, “Are you ever going to let me forget about that?”

“I ran in front of a dragon just as it was about to crush you under it’s foot. Distracted it so that you could go running in the opposite direction.”

He grinned wider, but then it quickly morphed into a frown, “You’re still calling me Blackwall.”

She faltered at that, looking down at her feet, “I… do you not want me to? I’m sorry… Thom.”

The name left her mouth clumsily, awkwardly. It sounded strange, but if he needed her to she _would_ get over it. He shook his head.

“I’ve gotten used to Blackwall. Let’s treat it as… a title. Something to aspire to.”

She nodded, “A worthy goal.”

They stand in silence for a few moments before he leaned in for a kiss. In his position on the floor, he was the same height as her, and it was… bizarre, honestly. But there was another issue.

“Blackwall. I love you, but _Maker’s breath_ you smell of horse. Take a bath,” she advised, and he sighed.

“So picky. Alright, I’ll bathe. Do you… wish to join me?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, so romantic. My dirty lover in the bath with me. Be still my beating heart,” she placed one hand on her forehead, and the other over her heart, and heard him huff out a laugh.

“Point taken. I’ll see you later, then, my lady?”

“Count on it.”


End file.
